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If in the beginning...



If in the beginning was creation- the planets to mesmerize, the stars to gaze with wonder, the sun to breathe in time and hover Love’s most bright, then the moon, which hovers the night to light the way for man, has had eons of glory to begin its inward flutter, toward our silence, toward our joy, toward our laughter. Flutter...

For creation to remain, she must cleanse herself of man’s pathetic use and stave off our attempted murder.


(After the one truth sprang forth in its Milky Way swimming in Love’s DNA round and round, both began to grow down, down, down into Love’s thighs, down into the light turned water, into the dark turned sky.)

Are there more things for us to have known, for us to have imagined? Have we left anything soiled, defiled, that’s not to creation’s liking?

I pray you forgive me now, before your unbelievable wrath is summoned from the core of your sorrow. Shall we fair better after the deed is done or will we die from utter shock at seeing we were wrong? We received so much more of Love than we gave, or bargained for?

Eternal guide, lead me on that I may be near your bosom more, that I may hear the wondrous symphony calling across your canyon floors like a violin’s echo darting behind the dark. You fail Love, and you’ll part ways with her loving Love paired, her righteous skin producing such wondrous fares.

Her oceans wait for the next flood of death, the next mortal king to wave his crown and try to bring Love crashing down. To wash away our fear, we’ll need Love to explain how on eartH the sons and daughters of creation missed the truth for so long, how he crawled upon her, walked upon her, drove upon her, then flew above her majesty and spat upon her face.

See the coming misfortune, the fatal flaw in human nature? Pry the “s” out of insanity and you’ve want of the rest. Will we realize soon enough, we’re the cause of our own demise, as we’ve tried to strafe life from out of Love and Love from out of life?

Oh Love, help us, we’ve little left to offer, with abundance yet to be given. Keep your hands free of her spirit, now move yours away from the core, back away slowly, bend upon your knees and clasp your complicit paws together to realize you know nothing, you are nothing, that nothing of yours compares and that she implores you to breathe all remaining Love into creation’s heart forevermore?

This magnificent eartH in all of her glory, and at the center of it all, a clarinet whimpers her grief into the air, a tambourine jangles its painless joy over the water, spoons rattle their rigid clip above her eartHenware bowl… and a guitar string pounds out Love’s beat within this, the Mother’s and Grandmother’s and Great Grandmother's eternal note.

Yes! It is Love that’s arranging its song into a masterpiece. Like the wind and its song, the wolf and its air, the bird and its call, Love summons us to duty, prays we begin anew, bowed and broken, hauling Love up the mountain instead of death, carting her to her peak, to Love swimming deep and running out of air!

To speak, she ascends her surface to say, if you bring your brother to belief, you’ll bring the world.

(Swim, little minnow, break free from your looming death.)


© 2011 by mark prime

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